


You're running too fast dad

by martainez



Series: perfectly imperfect [4]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Family Angst, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Phil Lester Is A Sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martainez/pseuds/martainez
Summary: five times Dan wanted his dad's attentionplus one time when it didn't matter anymore(ends with ii, so... tour fic?)





	You're running too fast dad

**Author's Note:**

> Based on things I've been through but told using Dan and Phil and their lives.   
> It's fiction, I'm sure Dan is a beloved kid! 
> 
> The title is inspired by the song 'Spring inte så fort pappa' (which translates into 'Don't run so fast dad'). The song isn't even that angsty, but I thought it sounded nice. 
> 
> love you

**_one_ **

There were crayons scattered all over the kitchen floor, some were smudged, leaving permanent marks on the pinewood floorboards. If you listened closely you could hear the faint sound of a radio playing music on the top floor. 

In the middle of the mess, a little boy laid. His small body was propped up by his elbows, and his tiny foot tapped in sync with the music. He wore a mismatched outfit; a mustard yellow, long sleeved top which arms had been rolled up, paired with a pair of manchester dungarees. His tiny hand was wrapped around a purple crayon, dragging it along some paper. Satisfied with his masterpiece, the boy dropped the crayon, grabbed the drawing and pulled himself up from the floor. 

He walked up the stairs slowly, with one of his hands gripping the railing and the other the painting. The steps were normally slippery (anti-slip mats were expensive and therefore not prioritised in this household), but the boy's parents had fortunately skipped putting a pair of socks on his feet that morning, causing him to get sort of a grip on each step. 

"Dad," the boy said, voice high-pitched and loud. He continued to walk towards the sound of the radio. He stopped in front of a closed door, hearing the sound of music flowing through it. He reached for the door handle but found himself too short. Standing on his tippytoes, he tried again, the drawing was dropped in an attempt to open the door using both his hands. Said and done, the weight of the little boy on the door caused it to fly open. The boy collapsed on the floor, while the door flew into the wall with a bang. He rose, unbothered, and collected the painting from the floor once again. 

The room was old fashioned, the walls were covered in velvet wallpaper and dust was covering most of the books in the bookshelf that was leaning against the wall. A desk was stood underneath a small window, covered in paperwork. To its right, just beside the bookshelf, there was an armchair, rosy red and covered with ink stains. There was a man sitting in it, with a book in his lap and a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He had brown hair, freshly cut and styled into a messy back slick. When he heard the door slam open he turned his head towards the boy in the doorway. A frustrated sigh could be heard, as he removed his glasses and placing them on his head instead. 

”What have I told you, Dan? A closed door means no disruptions." Dan didn't listen and paced all the way over to the man. He held out his drawing and smiled proudly as he said:

"To you, dad." When his father did nothing to take the drawing from his hand, he put it down on the book, and walked around the armchair so that he was stood at his father's shoulders. He pointed towards the drawing. 

"This is me," he said, pointing towards a stickman with red trousers and brown hair. He then gestured to a slightly taller stickman, this one with a green and blue tracksuit. "That's you." 

In the background, there was a huge castle, painted purple with black windows and a big grey port. It stood majestically on a hill, with a big, yellow sun shining above it. 

"This is our castle, dad," Dan said proudly as he looked up at his father to see his expression. He had a frown on his face, his mouth was tightly drawn as he grabbed the painting and removed it from his book. His voice was low, almost soundless as he said:

"That's not how reality works." Dan just nodded, although he didn't fully understand, as he walked out of the room, leaving the door open. 

If his eyes teared up when he later found his painting in the trashcan? Well, no one would ever find out.  
  


****_two  
  
_

"Remove your shoes first, Daniel!" his mother yelled as he ran over the living room floor. He stopped dead in his tracks, turned around and gave his mother an apologising smile before he slowly and gently walked back to the doormat at the front door. 

"Sorry mum, I forgot," he said, bending down to untie his shoelaces. 

"S'okay for this time," she answered while walking into the kitchen to put down the bag of groceries she held in her hands. "But this time only," she added when she heard her son put his shoes away and walk into the living room again. 

Dan walked fast, just as impatient as a ten-year-old usually is. He rounded a corner to be met with pure disappointment. The rusty brown couch that stood opposite to the tv was empty. Usually, by this time of the day, Dan's father would sit there and watch the afternoon news, to catch up with the world. But now the tv played images for no one to watch. 

"Mum!" he yelled, staring at the empty couch as if he couldn't believe what he saw. When she didn't answer he turned around and walked to the kitchen, this time slowly. 

He found her with her hands in the refrigerator, sorting out a place for all of the new groceries she had bought before picking him up at school. He stayed in the doorway and leaned against the door frame. 

"Where's dad?" he said. 

"At a meeting, son," she answered, not bothering to look up from what she was doing. 

"Will he be back soon?" 

"Yes." 

Dan turned around in the doorway, a smile spreading on his lips as he skipped towards the staircase that led to the upstairs. He sat down on the fifth step and faced the front door. _He could way for an hour or so, no problem._

An hour passed. He went up once to go to the toilet but returned shortly after. 

Two hours passed. At some time (surely half-time) he had laid down on the step, using his right arm as a pillow. 

Three hours passed. His mother had yelled at him for being in the way when she tried to walk up the stairs with the vacuum cleaner in her hand. He had sat up again. 

Four hours passed. He had snatched a few snacks from the kitchen and was now munching on them. The sun had settled, and his mother had been nowhere to be seen for the past half an hour / forty minutes or so. 

Four hours and twenty-seven minutes had passed when Dan heard steps on the front porch. He stared hopefully at the door as it opened, revealing a tall, familiar, relatively young man. Dan's father. 

Dan jumped up from the step and hurried towards the door. His father did almost not make it through the door before Dan wrapped him in a hug. (Or, rather his legs in a hug since his father was almost twice as tall as Dan). 

"I scored a goal today dad," Dan said, his voice muffled by his father's jeans. He felt a hand on his shoulder, pushing him away. He looked up and was met with his father's tired expression.

"Please, not now," he said, monotonously. Dan backed off a little, still smiling brightly as he continued telling the story he had been waiting all day to tell. 

"We played football today dad, and I did it. I made you proud!" 

"Hm," Dan's father said as he removed his coat and shoes, still not looking his son in the eyes.

"We won dad," Dan said, his voice a bit quieter, a tinge of sadness evident. He watched as his father walked past him and took the stairs two steps at a time. Unable to move, he remained standing in the hallway. A tear snaked its way down his cheek and he quickly wiped it away with his thumb. 

"Goodnight, dad," he whispered, lowering his head as he let the tears fall freely. 

 

**_three_ **

 

Dan played the same melody over and over again. He closed his eyes and let the small vibrations from the keys travel through his fingertips, via his veins, up to his head- calming his mind. Fantasies about how he performs on a stage, dressed in a tuxedo, with a headlight directed towards his fast working fingers, is played in his head. He sees the audience rise, hands that crash together as they applaud him. He bows; thanks his parents for always believing in him. 

Then he opens his eyes and is met with _the_ _reality_ :

Alone, sitting on his bed with a cheap keyboard across his lap. The sound that echoes out of the built-in speakers is metallic; tinny; monotonously. Not even half as good as in his fantasies. He traces the keys with his fingertips, they feel like cheap plastic. Not far from the toys you get from the one-pound-machines at the supermarket. 

He played the melody again, it's second nature by now. It should be good enough to convince people that he is serious about his interest in piano. He is not ten anymore, he is aware of his passions and it's about time to show the world (however, let's start with his parents). 

He walked down the stairs, listening for sounds that would tell him where his parents would be. He heard a faint voice of someone talking, he picked up a few words ( _rain_ , _pressure_ , _but first_...) and concluded that this must be the eight o'clock news.

He walked to the couch where his parents rested with his hands behind his back. They did nothing to indicate that they had noticed his presence. 

"Mum, dad?" he said. His parents looked up from the TV and glanced over towards him. Their faces were expressionless, except for the darkness underneath their eyes that indicated that they were both in need of a good night's sleep. His father raised his eyebrows for Dan to continue talking. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Go on," his father demanded and returned his glance to the tv. His mother nodded, half-heartedly encouraging. Dan took a deep breath, bracing himself. 

"I want to take piano lessons," he said, loud and clear. His father chuckled but didn't look away from the tv. His mother just shook her head, slowly and gave him an apologetic look.

"Dear, that's way too expen-"

"It's a waste of money," Dan's father interrupted. "You'll play the piano for a week. I know you." Dan just stared at him, completely speechless. He opened his mouth to say something but no sounds came. He closed it and reopened it again, surely looking like some kind of fish in distress. 

"That's not true," he said eventually, voice shaky and small. "I can prove it!" he added, louder as an idea popped up in his head. "I know how to play Für Elise, I can play it for you? Yeah?" His eyes were wide with hopefulness.

"Please don't," grunted his father, clearly done with the whole conversation. All hope visible in Dan's eyes died, his shoulder sank and he looked down at his feet as he nodded slowly, turning away from his parents. 

As he walked away he could hear his mother shout:

"You can always pay for it yourself!" 

Dan ended up, in fact, paying for the lessons himself. But when he all of a sudden stopped going to the lessons, he didn't even bother telling his parents about it. They didn't care anyway. 

 

**_four_ **

 

Dan's girlfriend; he had known her since he was little. They grew up in the same neighbourhood, had a few classes together and sometimes hanged out in their spare time. 

He had never thought that he would catch any romantic feelings towards her, since they didn't really share any interests. Dan liked playing video games all night long, screaming angrily at the character when it fell from the platform, accidentally waking his entire family up. He played the piano occasionally but did sadly not have enough courage to play her any songs. She liked cooking and even baking every now and then. She would invite him over for a gourmet meal, and then ask him in detail what he thought of different flavour combinations. Dan never knew what to answer. Was it too sweet? Too salty? Should she add more garlic next time? 

It was during one of those meals when he all of a sudden saw her in a whole new light. The girl he grew up with was no longer a little, frisky and somewhat annoying kid. She was a teenager, her ponytails replaced by a stylish right swept fringe. Her lips were plumped, artificially shiny with the help of some lipgloss that she always carried in the back pocket of her light wash jeans. She wasn't cute anymore, she was hot. And, Dan _would_ lie to himself if he didn't admit that blood did rush through his veins as her cleavage grew deeper and deeper.

He was the one who had popped the question. It was casual, like a normal day to day conversation. An " _I'd like to be your boyfriend, you know_ " and an " _I'd like that too_ " and boom; a relationship. They did share a few kisses that night. 

When Dan returned home the evening after; he was on cloud nine. Everything was perfect; skin was clear, grades were up and he, _he_ had a girlfriend. He rushed up the front steps and threw the door open. He was smiling brightly, his presence shone with happiness as he removed his jacket and shoes and kicked them under the shoe rack. 

"Mum!" he yelled. A clinking sound came from the kitchen. 

"In here." Dan jogged into the kitchen, where he found his mother pouring herself a cup of tea. She gestured for him to grab himself one as well as she sat down at the kitchen table. Dan declined politely but went to sit down himself. 

"Guess what, mum," he exclaimed. His mother made a thinking face and then shrugged. 

"No, you tell me," she said. With a dimpled smile and his hand clasped on the table surface he announced: 

"I have a girlfriend!" his mother shone up, her slouched shoulders straightened. 

"That's wonderful, who is she?" she asked, pure curiosity and joy in her voice. 

Dan was just about to start talking about her and all of her perks and quirks when his father emerged into the room. Dan's mother noticed his appearance by putting down the teacup and give him a small, loving smile. 

"Dan's got a girlfriend, love," she told him, looking over at Dan to have him confirm by nodding that the information was true. Dan was head over heels with excitement for his father's awaited reaction. 

He watched as his father walked over to their table, snatched the newspaper, which was lying in the middle, and walked out again. Not saying a word. Dan looked over at his mother, who gave him an apologetic look. 

"I think I'll just go to bed," he mumbled, rising from the chair and slowly walking out of the room. "Goodnight." 

Three years later, when Dan equipped his first _ex_ -girlfriend, his father was the first one he told, but the last one who cared. 

 

**_five_ **

 

"I'm going to Manchester in three days." The whole family were gathered around the dining table when Dan decided to drop the bomb. It was a Friday afternoon, cold rain poured down outside, trapping the whole neighbourhood inside their houses. Freshly cooked food stood on the table, smelling of herbs and seasonings. The soup was poured into deep plates handed to each and every family member. 

Dan's sudden outburst broke the otherwise comfortable silence that often occurred when they were all together. His parents both studied him like he was some sort of freak for saying something at all (especially something other than the polite " _It's good_ " or " _Pass the salt, please?_ "). 

His mother was the first, _and only_ , one to open her mouth to speak. 

"Okay..," she said and shrugged, both parents, in sync, turned their attention to their food. 

"I'm staying at a friend's," Dan said. His mother nodded; no further attention. "A friend I've never met before," he added. 

"Sounds fun," his mother said nonchalantly. 

Dan sighed, "He's from the internet." He could hear his mother hum. 

" _The internet_ ; as in ’the place where you accidentally meet paedophiles’." 

When not even that sentence caught their attention the frustration grew wilder inside Dan. He was not known as an angry person, rather the opposite; he was known as the soft, little boy with unusually tall legs but a smile sweet enough to root teeth. But now, the angry monster inside of Dan, that had been resting uneasily for nineteen years, woke up from its slumber. It basically exploded. 

He stood up so fast that the chair wobbled and fell to the ground with a loud bang. He slammed his hands on the table, the sound so loud it echoed in his head. With a voice full of raw anger and suppressed sadness he yelled, at the top of his lungs: 

"I'm going to Manchester, I'm meeting a friend, and we. are. going. to. _fuck_!"

The reaction he received was as expected. Four eyes staring, two mouths hanging open, jaws dropping in the opposite of amusement. 

"Daniel Howell!" his mother yelled, pure disappointment evident in her voice. 

"I just want you to listen to me," Dan cried, his raw anger turning into wet anger. Tears flowed down his cheek, dripping down his chin and later absorbed by the wooden floor. He stared at his parents, wanting nothing but for them to understand; to listen; to _love_. 

He saw his father open his mouth, he was going to say something. Maybe an " _I'm sorry_ " or " _I understand you, son_ ". (Something stopped the tears from gathering in Dan's eyes, instead, he was filled with some kind of warmth. Hope. He was feeling hopeful.) 

"Get out of my kitchen." The words stung like he had been hit by a truck. He said it harsh, undoubtedly with enough hatred to fill a void. 

Dan did leave the kitchen. He also left for Manchester three days later. He left his family to find himself a new one. _A new loving one, hopefully._

 

**_plus one_ **

 

The peep-hole in the door is big enough to see the entire first five rows of the venue. It's showtime and most people have already found their seat. Someone is taking a selfie with the set, doing the ironic peace sign and poking their tongue out. Others are singing along to the custom playlist, together creating a rather tone-deaf cover of 'Dusk Till Dawn'. It's beautiful, really, perhaps not the singing in itself, but the fellowship, the feeling of solidarity that comes with it- that's stunningly beautiful. 

Dan scans the first few rows, searching for two brown-haired adults amongst the masses of blondes, gingers, teens and parents. He finds none. 

A pair of arms hugs him from behind, a head is resting on his shoulder. It's Phil, he knows it because; one: the smell of familiarity, and two: who else would it be?

Dan sighs. "They're not here." He leans back into Phil's touch.

"Your parents?" Phil asks, Dan nods. "I'm sorry," he adds, squeezing his partner a little harder. 

"It doesn't matter," Dan says, and to be honest; it sounds like he means it. 

"Why?" Phil presses a kiss to Dan's clad shoulder. 

"Because the room is filled with people who came. People who actually, willingly, spent their hard earned money on us." He smiles as he says it, turning around to give Phil a proper hug. 

 

The show turns out amazing, and when it's done the crowd stands up to give them a standing ovation. They share a smile, it's genuine and raw and everything Dan needs. 

 

They are back at the hotel, food has been ordered and a tv show selected. Dan is lying down on the bed when Phil comes out of the bathroom. He is dressed in nothing but a pair of pants and a loose t-shirt, it clamps to his back due to the dampness that follows after a shower. He pushes back his hair in an attempt to create a quiff. 

"Dan," he says, standing still by the door that divides the bedroom from the bathroom.

"Yeah?" Dan answers, brown eyes meeting blue ones. 

"I'm proud of you," Phil says, not a doubt to be heard. 

Dan grins, the biggest and widest he has even grinned. Phil open up his arms and Dan takes the invite to walk right into them. He is immediately engulfed by two strong arms who strokes his back in gently patterns. 

"I'm always proud of you," Phil whispers, audible enough for Dan, and Dan only.

 

And in that moment; Dan felt understood, he felt heard and he felt _loved_. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dear dad, 
> 
> I forgive you, but I will do everything I can just so I don't end up like you. 
> 
> x your daughter


End file.
